Avoir L'espoir
by xsakura13
Summary: "Beneath the stinging burn of agony, he managed to think that Light was a rather unsuitable name for him; it would be quite a bright world without him. Oh my Buddha! Was that what she meant by 'light in the darkness' He grimaced, praying to Allah that it was not." Meet Matt, an ordinary mercenary with extraordinarily bad timing and humor (currently single and unable to mingle).
1. Meet Dog

Puddles of filthy water checkered the pier as if mocking the new arrivals with an unseemly sight. He appeared almost oblivious to the dirty looks he was receiving from bystanders as he trudged right through the water, spraying it all over the ragged coats of the ladies and the polished leather shoes of the men. But, the sun was at the edge of the horizon and painted the sky in a warm orange blanket, dusted with traces of gold. The rough storm from earlier lightened just in time for the boat's arrival, and it seemed as though the clouds parted just for the weary passengers.

He was jarred out of his brooding state when he saw her in that perfect picture of serenity, and all thoughts of the war between the Montague family and Capulet family disappeared without a trace. Of course, it wasn't an anarchy, but he was willing to bet his pile of severed skulls that the prince didn't know half of the daily occurrences in the town. Just kidding, he wasn't that sadistic.

But, like any reasonably normal male, his emerald eyes were drawn to the muddy jem. She was a young maiden with golden hair hastily pulled black and hazel eyes dimmed from the long journey. Unlike the ladies around her, however, she didn't exude a sense of self-importance and arrogance; contrary she was just the maiden of any fairytale before the title of princess fixed her up.

As she languidly pulled her luggage along with her, he noticed that her eyes were blind to the sight in front of her; that is, her mind seemed to be somewhere faraway. If not for his keen eyes which noted that her body swayed too heavily, he wouldn't have made his next three strides, he crossed the pier, making sure the bump aside the dirty-lookers, and caught her before she slipped on a faulty board and nearly collapsed, and her surprise momentarily brought her mind back to reality.

He noted her widened eyes and pink cheeks, and he immediately let her stand.

"My apologies," he muttered lowly, though he certainly wasn't sorry at all.

A pregnant pause followed before she stammered, "N-Not at all. Thank you for the save." She graced him with a faint smile.

"Anytime." He found himself grinning for the first time he'd been assigned his mission. Inwardly, he berated himself for being distracted. His purpose was to scout out the lady of the Capulets and eliminate her-not to dwindle amongst the city goers and _socialize_. He grimaced at the thought of the word, and his mood soured.

"Is there something wrong?" She peered at him curiously, tiredness seemingly disappeared.

"No. Nothing," he said brusquely, straightening his back. "Well, I must be off. Good day, my lady."

He strode away instantly, black cloak fluttering in the slight breeze. But, he couldn't shake off the image of the maiden with the hazel eyes, looking and smiling at him as if he weren't a killer damned to hell.

Oh, and he managed to pilfer a lovely bracelet off the pompous lady in the fur coat. It would be a lovely day for dog.

XXX

"Are you sure you want to eat that?"

He rolled his eyes at the owner. "Honestly Philip, just hand it over." He opened out his hand and made an impatient gesture, drawing his cloak closer towards him as he slumped on the stool. From the behind, he surmised he looked like an overgrown bat, but he would be a charming overgrown bat.

"Geez," he replied in mock surrender, sliding over a plate of cubes. "I will never understand the obsession you have with these.

"What are you talking about?" the assassin remarked, affronted. "Pig blood is delicious! In fact, I hear that the Chinese are quite obsessed with them."

"Yes, and the Chinese also break the toes and feet of young girls to keep them from growing too big."

Wolfing down the bloody delicacy, he slammed his fist on the wooden table and perked his head up with eyes as wide as saucers. Too accustomed to the assassin's erratic behavior, the owner continued to polish the drinking glasses. "Did you forget to kill someone again?"

The assassin shifted his flat, unamused gaze on the owner who, having dealt with numerous unpleasant customers, stared right back without falter. Of course, the very useful skill wasn't granted to him inherently. He sharpened his gaze over the years-especially since that one incident involving the drunken man, pig blood cubes, and explosive diarrhea.

"You know that doesn't work on me," he remarked dully.

"That doesn't stop me from trying," breathed the assassin seriously, crossing his arms over his chest. "They say to follow your dreams."

"And your dream is to follow every political figure and kill him?"

"Yes, preferably by burning a hole in their skull with my eyes."

In resignation, the owner flicked the assassin on the forehead, throwing him out of the stupid battle. "Hey!" cried the assassin indignation, clutching his forehead. "Who knows where your fingers have been! Also, gimme a crust of bread, will ya?" Immediately after, his gloved hand shut up to intercept a fresh crust of bread, steam dancing above it.

"Hot, hot, hot," he chanted reproachfully, tossing it back and forth between his hands.

"You asked for a good piece after last time," shrugged the owner nonchalantly.

A whistle sounded, and a black ball of fur bounded toward the assassin. He offered it to the shaggy dog with an affectionate coo before turning back towards the owner. "I said it would be a good day for Dog," he explained in self-satisfaction.

"And to this day, you still call him Dog. Do you call people humans?" The owner shook his head.

"In fact, I do," he responded with a befuddled frown. He proceeded to mimic himself. "'Where did you go with those documents, human?'"

"And was that a good day for geese?"

"Goose," he corrected. "I only ate one."

"Oh my god."

"Oh my Allah," he corrected, knowing the man wasn't Christian. "Or, oh my Buddha if you're into that. You know there's this one religion that's deathly afraid of dogs? They have this peculiar circle symbol."

"Get out."

XXX

The moment when the line break isn't in the tool bar. Oh, whale! This was a short story I wrote during my English class's analysis on _Romeo and Juliet_ by Shakespeare. Naturally, I don't own either _Romeo and Juliet_ or _Death Note,_ but it's always fun to think "What if?" I hope you enjoyed!


	2. Meet Mafia

The second time he saw her she was inside the abandoned the church-the one with glass stained windows and dilapidated, wooden seats. They were dusty, almost ready to crumble, and rumors of strange whispers near the church drove away potential explorers.

He was surprised to see her kneeling at the altar and hastily tucked away his dagger under his cloak. After a moment, he coughed to steal her attention, and she whirled around, startled. Her tense shoulders relaxed after recognizing a familiar face. Under normal circumstances, he would've laughed at her willingness to trust. Well, he did it anyway-just inwardly.

"I was beginning to think I'd never see you again." She smiled warmly at him, completely oblivious to who he really was.

"Most never do," he replied gravely. They had all made _grave_ mistakes and made it easier for him to send them to their _graves._ He was on the brink of chortling when she returned her gaze to him, so he was forced to stifle his grin.

She frowned, slightly puzzled by the awkward expression on his features, but didn't pursue the matter.

"Do you come here often?" he questioned.

She shook her head, settling back down onto her knees. "I found it on a day I needed a break from life," she mused contemplatively, "and to my great fortune, I stumbled across this sanctuary."

He scoffed in disbelief, with a flourish gesticulation around him. "Sanctuary? There must be better places than this!" Namely, a place that didn't reek of cat urine, or maybe that was just him.

She smiled patiently. "Do you believe?"

"Pardon?"

She gestured around her, at the church enclosing them. "Do you believe in a god?"

He shrugged offhandedly. "It doesn't matter what I believe," he stated flatly, mood suddenly taking a turn for the dark. If humor was his antidote, then he was a dead man. "I'll burn at the end of this life." He began to pace around, silently observing her. Like the first day he saw her, she was dressed in shabby attire: a plain blue dressed overlapped by dull brown coat, looking as though it would fall apart at the seams. The only curious thing was the rosary that dangled below her neck-incidentally, the very spot if punctured, would give the victim only about a minute to live. It was strung with moon white pearls and a silver cross that glimmered in the dimness.

Her eyebrows knitted in concern. "Don't say that. You must've done something right in your past life to deserve a life as a human now."

He halted abruptly. "Then, I presume you believe?" He stared pointedly at the rosary.

She laughed merrily. "In God? No. In _a_ god? Yes." Seeing his befuddled expression, she elaborated further, "I believe in light in the darkness-in hope where there is gloominess. There is never an end to anything, only a conflicted beginning."

"There will be war soon," he stated plainly. "Blood will taint the streets."

Any traces of warmth in her expression vanished into frost. Her eyes hardened. "There will not be war; I will see to it myself." However, she muttered her last words so that it was inaudible to the assassin. Yet, he caught a glimpse of her stoic expression and heard the firmness in her declaration. It was unsettling and almost granted her his begrudging respect-except that she had no method of holding true to her word. _He_ would see to it.

"Your name?"

The expression vanished, and she glanced up at him with eyes like a deer caught in headlights. "Pardon?"

He cleared his throat and repeated, "May I have your name?"

She stared at him, seemingly conflicted. However, her ambivalence cleared just as quickly. "Avoir…." She mused in deep pension, inconspicuously twisting the chain of her rosary around her finger. "You may call me Avoir."

He nodded, not completely reliant on her word. He would spend the night pondering over the name as he absentmindedly polished his dagger, occasionally twirling it between his fingers. "Avoir," he said again, unable to get over how foreign the name was to his tongue.

Suddenly, he shook his aggressively. No, he couldn't afford to be distracted from his mission. The assassin had to give the Capulets credit for tucking the daughter into the corner of the world. Even he hadn't laid eyes on her yet. If he did-a cruel grin tugged at his lips, knife halting movement abruptly-she wouldn't have another second to breathe before the ground bled crimson.

He recoiled instinctively as the ball of fur bounded on his face, hand shoot up from behind his head to catch him. Underneath the black mop, he commented dryly, "While I appreciate the face warmer, I don't think you want to be skewered, Dog."

Dog barked and panted, pleased to have a nice bed for the night. If only he'd shut up now, they could all get some sleep.

XXX

"Boss is tired of waiting, Matt."

Matt growled, dexterously twirling his dagger between his fingers. "Tell Ryuk that he can stick this dagger up his-"

" _Matt!_ "

Matt sighed in frustration. "Look, he already got his crateful of narcotics. I don't know why he insists on bothering me." With a nasty glare, Matt threw himself on the lovely sofa he'd stolen from the bishop a few months prior. He didn't doubt that he would burn (or freeze) in hell, but he made better uses of it than the bishop. In retrospect, he thought that all Church officials relinquished their manhood. Distastefully, he eyed the sofa with suspicion. Near better had done a _thorough_ job of cleaning this sofa.

Mello huffed in annoyance. "I really doubt that apples are narcotics," replied Mello wryly, "but just finish the job. It's like he's on withdrawal."

"I don't get why he's so eager to kill her off," remarked Matt boredly, kicking his legs over the edge of the sofa. "I don't recall agreeing to a time constraint."

"Well, apparently he's been offered some weapon that's _revolutionary_." Mello rolled his eyes, clearly skeptical. "And the guy wants her dead."

"What could it possibly be?" chuckled Matt darkly. "A magic wand that'll kill everything you point it at? A gas that can be used to execute people simultaneously? No, I've got it-" he grinned widely "-it's a magic parchment that kills the person whose name is written on it."

"Then, he might as well kill her himself."

"But, you see, he doesn't know her name."

"Her name is common knowledge."

"What is it then?"

"I don't know!" snapped Mello, shoot daggers at Matt. "Just hurry up and finish the job, so we don't have to listen to Ryuk whine! Plus, the other guy gives me the creeps!"

"Can't be as creepy as L."

"No." Mello shook his head, a contemplative expression settling on his scarred features. "The guy is so positively normal that it's disturbing. You wouldn't exactly expect a sane person to nonchalantly demand the death of one of the most influential political figures, would you?"

Matt shrugged, indifferent to the description. "I don't know about you, but I meant this one guy who was absolutely insane. Had these film over his eyes-cataracts-but it looked like he was always watching. He saw a murder of crows one day and went berserk on me." Matt imitated the dead man with grotesque stabbing motions.

"He went nuts because of dead crows?"

"A flock of crows is called a murder of crows," corrected Matt. Pretending to be insulted, he cried, "Does no one appreciate good literature these days?"

A dagger flew by Matt's hair, imbedding itself into the wall behind him. "Does it look like we have the dough?"

Unaffected, Matt wrapped his fingers around the blade and yanked it out. "One: We could get some dough instead of apples. I hear they're delightful with chowder. Two: I am but a humble book thief at your service." He bowed with a sly grin.

"Really?"

"For just $2.99 a minute, I will procure the best pieces of literature in history."

"I don't want a bloody Bible from the cathedral or wherever the hell you stole that sofa!" Mello stomped away, unable to brook his partner's stupidity.

Matt watched him go before swearing, "Damn."

XXX

The sixth time he saw her he was strolling down the street, blending into the shadows of the crowd. He didn't immediately detect her with sight. No, he learned that she radiated a certain scent: a combination of lavender and jasmine. And so when the scent almost pummelled him, his hand shot out to grasp a passing wrist: hers, true to his anticipation.

She peered up at him and smiled, having grown accustomed to being sought out so arbitrarily. He clucked in disapproval at her foolishness inwardly. Even with a drabby cloak and a hood over her head, she couldn't be too careless. He would finish his mission tonight, but in the meantime, he had time to kill-pun completely intended.

He pulled her closer to him, into the shadows and away from the world's eyes. "What are you up to?"

"The usual-just saving the world," she replied lightly, grinning up at him and discreetly tugging on her hood.

He frowned, noticing this, and pulled off her hood. A waterfall of golden waves undulated to her shoulders, and he commented dryly, "By changing your hairstyle?"

She pouted. "I'm saving the world one step at a time. What are _you_ doing?"

He paused and considered his answer before vaguely replying, "Planning mayhem."

She shook her head in playful disapproval but rebounded with bright eyes. "Did you hear?" She questioned eagerly, bounding with enthusiasm. "The families are planning to unite."

Coldness twisted his insides. His eyes narrowed. "Pardon?"

She nodded vigorously, "The Capulets and Montagues will unite with marriage between the son of the Montagues and the daughter of the Capulets. Finally, this mutiny will end. No longer will civil blood make civil hands unclean. Isn't this great?" She sighed in satisfied relief, slumping tiredly into his arms. It was almost as if her energy was fueled just by the promise of peace. "Two families at war that cause strife and plight for the city's people. By uniting, the people won't ever have to worry again."

He swallowed thickly, hesitantly removing his arms from around her. On the contrary, his business thrived off chaos and conflict. He would have to seal the plan quickly-one last breath exhaled. Bending over to position his lips next to her ear, he whispered softly, "I must leave. I'll return to you again." He started to dart off but was halted by her grip on his wrist.

She watched him sadly. "Leave me your name then," she begged. "You come and go like the ever changing breeze. I feel as though one day, you won't ever return to me." She smiled, albeit wearily.

Like her, he felt conflict knot his heart. To bind their fates with deception he couldn't bear. "Sisyphus," he replied curtly, before striding away, an ominous dot of black swallowed by the unsuspecting white crowd.

XXX

His back was stiff, and it was a chilly night. There was only a sliver of the moon to guide his shot-better than no moon at all, he supposed. Of course, it'd help if Dog would stop whimpering.

"Do you want to be fed tonight?" he asked the shaggy canine in annoyance. In response, the dog looked at him and then turn away.

Matt sighed. The balcony was still empty. He'd been waiting, lying on his stomach for roughly an hour to eliminate the daughter of the Capulets, and his typical patience was wearing away. Perhaps it was due to his agitation or the urgency of the situation, but his fingers kept tapping, and he couldn't assuage the peculiar pain in his chest, like his heart was being swallowed whole.

But, finally, finally he heard them: faint footsteps clanking along the metal balcony. With his sharp eyes, Matt made out the silhouette of the lady of the Capulets. A small glimmer of silver flashed in the bare moonlight, and she walked out, placing her hands on the balcony edge, utterly vulnerable to the world.

A grimace turned his lips instead of his usual smirk: an unpredicted aberration. With trembling hands, he pulled out a sniper's rifle.

"Steady," he breathed to himself, unable to overcome his trepidation. The cold stung his cheeks, but he dismissed it, pulling back the trigger.

 _One. Two. Three…._

A sinister and roaring bang resonated in the wind, and the assassin hastily tucked his belongings in his cloak, grabbed Dog by the middle, and scrambled away-a minute to escape before he would be caught. Looking behind him as he fled, he caught sight of the female figure, shock stilling her into an immobile statue before crumpling to the ground without a cry.

 _The streets would bleed crimson tonight._

XXX

The next morning was bitterly cold and gray-almost like hell's ninth circle. Grimness painted the world with its dark, unpropitious shades. They marched her corpse in a coffin down the streets with absolute stoicness, unwilling to break down in case they became infected with the damp mood. The town crier spread the insidious news, muffled melancholy tinging his voice. The insidiousness contaminated those who heard him, but it set off an unusual feeling in him.

He didn't know what gave him the temerity to, but he followed the oblivious crowd to catch sight of the lady of the Capulets, who would've fought for tranquility's triumph over the crimson stained streets. They cleaned away the blood from her neck and dusted rouge across her cheeks to create the illusion of life. With her golden hair splayed beneath her, it looked as though she was merely sleeping.

However, one thing knocked the wind out of him: the silver rosary strung with moon white pearls that laid on the base of her throat-near the skin that was punctured by his bullet. He stumbled backwards in disbelief, staggering like a drunken man. Some passerbyers glared at the assassin as he knocked into them, but he quickly whirled away from the hapless corpse, heading towards sanctuary with uneven steps.

Once he bursted through the doors of the abandoned church, he collapsed, back sliding down the door. Sweat created a sheen of wetness on his forehead, and his hands-bloodied hands-clutched at his chest. The unbearable sensation from yesterday night returned with accentuated intensity.

A crinkling sound came from beneath his foot, and the assassin saw an envelope tucked neatly beneath one of the dilapidated seats. He pulled it out and immediately tore into it to retrieve the parchment inside.

 _Dear Sisyphus,_

 _I've heard that "for of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: 'It might have been!'" You see, I had a mission when I came to Kanto to wipe the streets clean of blood. I was the diplomat sent to unite the two families, and I deeply regret having to deceive you of my identity. There were rumors of an assassin that purged the town, and for my mission to succeed, I had to conceal myself from the world._

 _I know there is goodness in you, whether or not you choose to believe it. Don't say that you are damned to hell, and don't live with the regret that I did. I was to marry into the Montague family to save this city from fire and blood, but then I met you. As I write this, I wonder if it might have been something different if we met in another place and another life. Perhaps our fate was bound by faulty twine._

 _Still, I apologize for this inevitable deception for it was necessary for the good of all. Though I may never see you again after, I wish you the best. I wish you happiness._

 _Lady of the Capulets,_

 _Avoir_

The weathered parchment fluttered free of his grasp. He blinked, numb to the agony that mercilessly wretched his heart. Distracted, he unsheathed his silver dagger, spinning it dexterously between his fingers.

Raising his head to the ceiling, the assassin muttered hoarsely, "And the faulty twine, strung taut already, finally snapped when I gave it a careless yank. So, our fates unravel into a string of despair. Your life I stole, so mine I give."

He rose to his feet with great effort, hand on the dusty wall for support. He cradled the dagger in his palms before smiling serenely. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A life for a life, and a heart for a heart."

Outside, thunder erupted in roaring agreement, and rain hailed down on the old church where star crossed lovers before had met their end.

"Oh, it might have been...in another life," he said bitterly, closing his eyes and raising the dagger to his heart. "But, like Sisyphus I am damned to hell, never to see hope again."

XXX

The night breeze whispered her name, and the shadows of the darkness reached out to grasp her footsteps. A sliver of moonlight guided her way to the forbidden sanctuary. The soft clicks of her heels resonated ominously, and the unusual stench of gas pierced the air.

She pushed against the door of the church as softly as possible, dread knotting itself at the pit of her stomach. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness, and as she walked forward, her foot lightly jostled a slump at her feet. Her heart sank, as she crouched down to survey the corpse-or what she assumed was one.

He gasped and choked, sputtering crimson as his hand shackled her wrist in a dead grip. "Avoir?" He pleaded in weakened disbelief.

She stumbled back incredulously, eyes wide unanticipated shock. A voice rang out in the shadows of the sanctuary: a calm, mocking laced with malice. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show."

She turned on him, growling in animosity. "You told me he'd be gone."

The artful man observed her, leaning his back against the wall and with his arms crossed, and replied disparagingly, "And he will be. I simply concluded that you'd like to see him one last time before his life is severed."

Slick as a cat, she cursed him.

"Light, you promised!" She cried in fury, but vulnerability burrowed beneath her words.

Light smirked and remarked wickedly, "Now, now. Do you not realize how difficult it was to time my intervention? The fool longed for a thrust to the heart, not the throat. You should be thanking me."

"We had a deal," she said in a dangerously low voice.

"Yes we did, dear diplomat," he cooed. "A life for the town's peace. I'm not hindering your intentions, and I do not intend to renege on our deal." He raised his arms above his head in mock surrender, certain he played her to checkmate. "By all means, sever his tie to the mortal world." Although tucked away in the shadows of the sanctuary, the faintest glimmer of light shone ominously on his grin: a smirk like the Cheshire cat.

Light nodded lazily towards a dagger positioned ever so conveniently next to the dying man. Said man gasped for breath, but vain were his attempts to cling to life-like clawing his way up from hell. Beneath the stinging burn of agony, he managed to think that Light was a rather unsuitable name for him; it would be quite a bright world without him. Oh my Buddha! Was that what she meant by "light in the darkness?" He grimaced, praying to Allah that it was not.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and all traces of her previous disconcerted state vanished. She smiled, but it was not a kind one. The frostiness of her upturned lips drained all that was left of his warmth, and her eyes were calculating.

"Believe me when I say I didn't want it to end like this," she said softly, stooping down to assess the remainder of his time. She twirled the dagger deftly between her fingers and sighed.

He watched her with unfathomable eyes.

"Truly I didn't. But, the conditions were too ripe to be overlooked. You understand, right?" She bent her head lower, cascade of gold brushing lightly against his cheek. She searched his eyes for some agreement-pardon, perhaps, but he granted her nothing but a long stare.

"I was afraid of that. But, you can't say that your hands are completely clean." Her spiteful laughter resonated sinisterly. "You thought you could kill me," she mused in reflection, the point of her dagger grazing his jaw. He didn't respond to her detached amusement.

"Well, I'm sorry, but this is where I must sever our ties," she whispered, eyes hardening. "Goodbye…."

But, his lips moved to form inaudible words. Curiosity seized her hand, and she faltered. "Pardon?"

He cleared his throat and said hoarsely, "It's quite all right, for we'll burn in hell..together."

A flash of steel emerged from beneath his cloak, and with the last of his strength, he thrusted the blade forward.


End file.
